Letting Sara know she'll always be my first.

Dejan lounged on the couch, the jar’s faint blue glow glinting on the coffee table as he watched Chloe bustle in the kitchen, her tight tank and shorts clinging to every curve. Her every move was calculated to please him, a **** edge in how she glanced over for approval while preparing dinner. It had been days since her reprogramming into his obsessed girlfriend, hell-bent on becoming his perfect trophy wife, and she’d settled into the role with eerie precision. Sara sat across the room, sprawled in a chair, scrolling through her phone, her accomplice mode radiating that sly, eager-to-assist vibe.

Dejan’s mind drifted to the layers of control at his command. Chloe was his showpiece, always primping and serving, while Sara’s dual nature—cunning partner by day, mindless tool by trigger—kept things versatile. He hadn’t invoked her trigger in a while, distracted by Chloe’s devotion, but the itch to flex that raw power clawed at him now. He caught Sara’s eye, keeping his tone casual but sharp. “Hey, Sara, fair play.”

Her body twitched, a subtle glitch as the hidden trigger sank in. Her grin faltered for a split second, replaced by a blank stare, before she set her phone down with mechanical slowness. “What do you mean?,” she mumbled, voice flat, standing and shuffling toward the stairs without another word. The programming knew the timing—midnight—and she’d continue with her day, not knowing anything.

Dejan smirked, leaning back, glancing at Chloe. “Keep dinner warm, babe. I’ve got something to handle later.”

Chloe turned, her smile unwavering, hands clasped as if ready to leap at any request. “Of course, Dejan. It’ll be perfect when you’re ready. I’m here if you need anything.” Her gaze lingered, full of adoration, oblivious to Sara’s shift as she returned to her task.

Hours ticked by. Dejan ate with Chloe, her chatter about wanting to be “the best for him” a constant hum as she pressed close, hand brushing his arm. He nodded, half-listening, mind on the midnight ritual. After dinner, he retreated to his room, leaving Chloe to clean up, her eager “I’ll take care of everything, babe” trailing after him. The clock crept toward 12:00 AM, and anticipation coiled tight in his chest.

Right on cue, the door creaked open. Sara stepped in, her movements rigid, face devoid of expression. Her eyes were glassy, staring past him as she stopped a few feet away in her oversized tee and shorts, hands limp at her sides. “Must suck brother. Must suck brother,” she muttered, voice a monotone drone, repeating the phrase like a broken record as she stood there, awaiting further direction.

Dejan sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing her, the sight of her blank obedience hitting like a rush.

She shuffled forward, stopping just in front of him, her chant unbroken. “Must suck brother. Must suck brother.” Up close, the emptiness in her gaze was stark, her body a shell driven by programming, waiting for his next move.

Leaning back slightly, his pants still on, drawing out the moment. Her legs folded instantly, dropping her to the floor, hands resting on her thighs as she stared ahead, still muttering. “Must suck brother. Must suck brother.” The words vibrated in the quiet room, a twisted mantra feeding the dark thrill in his gut.

She started unzipping Dejans pants slowly, he watched her face for any flicker of awareness. There was none. Her mouth shut mid-sentence, silence replacing the chant, though her blank stare didn’t waver. He freed himself, already hard from the sheer power of it, and gripped her chin, tilting her head up. “Look at me.”

Her empty eyes locked onto his, no recognition, just compliance. Her hands moved first, cold and mechanical, wrapping around him as her mouth followed, sealing tight with ruthless precision. No hesitation, no emotion—just programmed efficiency as she worked him, head bobbing in a steady rhythm, tongue hitting every spot just right.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he growled, hands in her hair, not pushing, just feeling the motion. Her silence held, the lack of her chant almost louder in its absence, letting the wet sounds of her mouth fill the room. The pressure built fast, her robotic pace unrelenting, pushing him toward the edge.

“Keep it up,” he gritted out, hips shifting slightly. No response, just the same blank focus as she drove him further. With a rough groan, he came, spilling into her mouth as she swallowed without a flinch, her rhythm unbroken until he pulled back, spent.

As Dejan zipped himself up, she rose mechanically, hands back at her sides, gaze still vacant. She turned, shuffling out, the door clicking shut behind her. Dejan exhaled, the high of control buzzing through him. Tomorrow, she’d be back to her accomplice self, clueless about midnight, while Chloe would still be downstairs or asleep, waiting to serve. Two pawns, two flavors of dominance—one a trophy, one a tool, and his stepmother was there for emotional support. The slug in his pocket pulsed faintly, a reminder of how much further he could push. He grinned, already itching for the next play.